Crank
by prince hans
Summary: (SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS) Newt's quickly losing his mind to the Flare. He knows he doesn't have much time before he completely snaps, but for some reason, it doesn't seem to bother him. If anything, he's got a bit of hope. There's a light at the end of his tunnel, and if he has to go through a little insanity to get to it, so be it.


Secretly, he didn't mind it. Being a Crank and all. It was a sad, dark truth that he was only willing to admit to himself, but the point still stood. Newt didn't mind having the Flare.

Sure, the symptoms and inevitable insanity at the end of it all were less than welcoming, but it would all end soon enough anyways. He would go past the Gone and lose his bloody mind, try to kill some poor shank, and probably get a bullet in his head, courtesy a 'munie. Newt had already thought it all out, when he still had at least a semblance of sanity left in his mind. But quickly enough, that too was gone, and what used to be a calm, collected, and concentrated personality was replaced by anger and nervous ticks and harsh, vulgar thoughts.

Newt knew it was only a matter of time until he completely flew off the edge. He could feel it creeping through his mind, viciously eating away at his brain. It was only a matter of time, he told himself. So when the Red Shirts forced their way into the Berg and took him, he was almost relieved. What if he had attacked Thomas when they all returned? Minho? He wouldn't be able to stomach it. [Or maybe he would, he was a bloody Crank, after all.]

He wondered what Alby would say if he were there. Probably something along the lines of "You're a shuck-nosed klunk-fer-brains idiot, Newt!" and Newt would laugh, albeit hysterically, and simply agree with him. He wondered if Alby would have the Flare too. Wondered if he would be a Crank. Or was he immune like Thomas, Minho, and countless other Gladers? Honestly, he doubted it. If he _was_ a 'munie, he wouldn't have died so soon.

Right, Alby was dead. He had forgotten about that detail. He forgot a lot of things lately, his already swiped memory foggier than usual. He constantly found himself trying to count his fingers or struggling to remember what the hell those metal monsters were from the Glade. Grievers? Maybe.

At the thought of his friend, he smiled. Alby. The sky above him was red and raw from the sun, but if he tried hard enough, he could almost picture blue skies and puffy, white clouds. That was weird, he had never seen something like that in his life. Or had he? That wasn't the point. Concentrate, Newt. Alby, we're talking about _Alby_. His best friend. His best friend? Hadn't they been more? He remembered stolen kisses in the Glades, a shared bed, leading together. They had definitely been more than friends. For some reason, the words "old married couple" popped into his deteriorating mind. Had Minho called them that? It was hard to remember.

As he stared up into the red sky, picturing it blue, he idly wondered if Alby was up there. He didn't know why he'd be in the sky, but it seemed to make sense to him. Somehow. Maybe he was just losing it. [He was losing it.] Anyway, if his mind was actually right, and Alby was up there, along with all the other Gladers they had lost along the way, he really _really_ hoped he would be with them soon. Because isn't that where you go when you die? And he was so close to death, to insanity.

Was it nice up there, in the sky? With all his friends? Would Chuck be up there? [Newt made a mental note he would soon probably forget to tell Chuck that Thomas said hi.] Would it be like the Glade, with less violence and blubbery death machines? [Vivid images of Alby being ripped apart wouldn't leave his conscience.] Maybe they'd get that happily ever after Newt had once spoke about. They'd all be reunited again, right? He hoped so. He wanted to be with Alby again. That was the sweetest reward to come out of the Flare. Once he was Gone, and then killed, he would be with Alby again. How sweet a thought. Newt was suddenly very calm, a feeling washing over him that made him question if he had been injected with the Bliss.

He wondered if the others would be jealous. _He_ got to be with Alby. He did. No one else. [He was insanely envious of the ones who died before he did.] If he thought really hard, he could imagine what would happen when he got up there, wherever _there_ was.

Alby would be there, waiting for him, with the sourest grump face he'd ever worn. "You useless shank," he would say. "Couldn't even keep yourself alive?"

And Newt would laugh, a hearty cheery sound, because his mind would be whole again. There would be no Flare to dampen his mood. He would try to tackle Alby in a hug, but being a skinny-minny, Alby would have no problems scooping him up and squeezing the breath out of him. By then Newt would probably be crying like a sissy, just a little bit, but noticeable enough to get a comment or two from Alby. By then all the other Gladers Newt once knew would have gathered around, all sporting smiles of bliss. They were all together again. Well, most of them. There were still a few brave souls chugging forward. Newt and the others would root for them. They'd watch over them as best as they could; try to keep them safe. Thomas and Minho, especially. And when their time was finally up (hopefully a long time after Newt's own death, and not anything violent or awful), the boys would welcome them with open arms and big smiles on their faces, giving pats on the back and encouraging words of praise.

A hand on Newt's shoulder sent him crashing back into reality. He looked to his side, anger flaring inside him. Who even had the _nerve_? With squinting eyes, burning from staring at the blazing sun, he made out a vague outline of a person. A Crank. The man drooled grossly all over himself, and Newt swore he leaned in at one point to try to chew off one of his fingers. He shoved the Crank away with an agitated huff, before he went back to staring at the sun, ignoring the constant reminder that he wasn't quite there yet.

It'll happen, he promised to an unseen force. _I'll be with them. With Alby._

He could only hope that it would happen quickly, because when a Crank girl moved into his line of vision, he couldn't help but notice how delicious her hands looked.

**some notes:**

**holy shit thanks to whoever reviewed last one because the site fucked with my format and turned the entire story into coding. hopefully it doesnt fuck it up again.**

**thanks fer reading!**


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